


On we sweep with threshing oar

by loveinadoorway



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot prompt #12 of the After Holidays Prompt Fest at stevedannoslash:<br/>“Steve gets himself whacked really hard on the head during one of those inevitable moments where the case goes south. That leaves Danny to alternately yell at and take care of him, frustrated and worried all to hell. Gen or slash, as you prefer, although you will get a million brownie points if its slash and they haven't quite figured out their feelings for each other yet. Yes, I am a walking cliché, but I am okay with that. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On we sweep with threshing oar

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I started out with the best intentions to follow orders, but then… it kinda… veered elsewhere. A little.  I hope that’s alright.

_  
**On we sweep with threshing oar - H50 fic - Steve/Danny**  
_  
 **  
Pairing:** Steve/Danny  
 **Genre:** slash, h/c  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word count:** 3344  
 **Warnings:** Language, sex and injuries **  
Spoilers:** None  
 **Disclaimers:** Owning nothing, will return them a little roughed up, a little the worse for wear. Title, lj cut text and the final chapter’s headline are from Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song. Cuz Steve can’t forever be associated with shady music only, can he now? Time for some street cred.  
Many thanks to the lovely [](http://aic67.livejournal.com/profile)[**aic67**](http://aic67.livejournal.com/)   for giving this fic a much needed kick in the ass.  


 _the warehouse_

He lifted his head as far as he could. Given his present state, that wasn’t far. There was something warm and sticky on his cheek. You didn’t have to be a cop to guess it was blood.

And you didn’t have to be a cop either to know he had a concussion. It was that obvious, really, from the way his ears rang to the ghost images flickering in front of his eyes whenever he closed them to the nausea that even the smallest of movements induced. Another dead giveaway was that while he remembered everything about the bust in perfect clarity, he had no recollection of what happened to his head.

One thing was absolutely clear, even as his vision blurred and his mind turned foggy again: His partner would come. No matter how good his abductors had been at covering their tracks, the sheer stubborn determination of the man would get past all that.

When he came to again, cold water was dripping on his face. He could hear the sound of rain on corrugated iron. So the storm had hit. He turned his head carefully away from the dripping water and tried once more to make sense of his surroundings. As soon as he opened his eyes, though, his guts started an attempt at leaving the inside of his body in a rush.

With a groan, he abandoned that project in favor of taking stock of his injuries. Methodically and detachedly, as he had been taught.

The bullet wound in his shoulder hurt like sumbitch, but didn’t appear too serious. Cracked ribs, check. Sprained ankle, check, maybe even broken. Together with the concussion and fact that his hands were tied securely behind his back, it did not look like he would be able to get out of here – wherever here might be – under his own steam.

Then a steel-capped boot connected with his temple and his world exploded in shards of red hot pain and chaos.

 _the station_

Danny was pacing. He had been pacing the length of the room exactly 347 times since they had gotten back from the bust that went bust. He had run his hand through his hair exactly 159 times since it became clear that McGarrett had not returned, had in fact not been heard of or seen since they had to tuck tail and run.  
The said hair, of course, was a mess now, sticking up in all sorts of unseemly directions at once.

The fuckers had been armed with bazookas, no less, plus machine guns, submachine guns, any kind of firearm known to man and then some. And instead of six guys packing roughly a ton of heroin in crates that ostensibly held rocking horses, of all things, there had been twentysomething.  
All in all, your classical McGarrett situation, running headlong into danger.

Only McGarrett hadn’t come out at the other end, as usual.  
McGarrett had gone MIA.

And there were five gadzillion ways in which that was a) wrong and b) inacceptable to Detective Daniel Williams. He had not even delivered the dressing-down that damned, insufferable son of a bitch the fuck deserved for his perpetual reckless disregard of his own health and safety yet.  
If that crazy ass Ninja SEAL wound up dead, Danny would the hell kill him.

Why was it taking Chin so long to trace McGarrett’s cell?

The storm ripped at the office building, the gale just now reaching its full force. Danny didn’t even hear it, just completed pace # 348.  
Whatever happened on the outside, here on the inside, Danny was the force of nature to be reckoned with.

When the Chin finally yelled some GPS coordinates in his general direction, Danny’s muscles coiled, clenched, did whatever shit muscles were supposed to be doing, completely out of their own accord. They propelled him forward, faster and faster, towards the man he wasn’t… he didn’t… towards the guy that was… everything.

the warehouse

Shit, shit, shit, that wasn’t looking good.  
All it took was that one look and Danny went completely ballistic.  
Months of denial and doubt just went the way of the Dodo faster than you could say ‘how’s your father’.

One look at McGarrett’s prone form, the blood, the bruises, the damn WRONG angle of his ankle and the … the messy wound on his temple.  
One look and hard-nosed (or so he’d like to think of himself) Detective Daniel Williams dropped to his knees and whispered sentences where every second bit was either ‘baby’ or ‘it’s gonna be fine’.  
Which of course was a lie.

 _the beach_

Danny was sitting in the sand, bottle in hand. Wondering who coined the expressions “three sheets to the wind”. Nautical, of course, but… what did it have to do with being drunk?  
The mere fact that he was contemplating that, of course, meant that he had left the three sheets phase firmly behind about two sips of Jack ago.

He should, of course, be sober and INSIDE the house, watching McGarrett. Making sure the man stayed put and didn’t harm himself. But that blank look in Steve’s eyes whenever he looked at his partner… Danny just couldn’t handle that anymore.

He took another sip.  
Of course it would go down like that. The moment the shock and worry had blasted all of Danny’s soul wide open, the moment he stopped caring what other people might think, the moment he finally acknowledged once and for all that he was madly, wildly, truly in love with the madman he was working for – that was the moment when it turned out that Steve McGarrett had had his memory kicked out of his stubborn ass head.

And that look where Steve was NOT recognizing Danny, not recalling ANYTHING of the past months of working together, of being something like friends, that look was just too much to take.  
So Danny was drinking and sitting on the beach, the beach he hated. Anything not to be inside with that… that Not-Steve.

Not-Steve was calm. Not-Steve did what he was told. Not-Steve did remember being a SEAL, so he actually was real good with orders. Danny had laid down the law and Not-Steve had nodded and smiled and had done everything by the goddamned book. Every goddamned thing.  
Danny snorted and took another sip, giving silent thanks to old man McGarrett for the quart of Jack in the garage, next to the tire iron.

Not-Steve who had followed Danny home like a good, obedient puppy. Not-Steve who hadn’t complained about Danny’s driving one bit on the way home, even though Danny had intentionally driven like a centenarian on valium to provoke the man. Not-Steve who had looked at Danny with those lost eyes as if Detective Williams could somehow make it all okay again.  
Not-Steve who just the fuck was not Steve.

 _the house_

Steve stood by the screen door leading out to the lanai.  
Dusk was falling quickly, but he could still make out Detective Williams’ form in the fading light. The man was sitting in the sand, apparently drinking. He had been drinking all afternoon, had refused dinner and had taken the first excuse to get out of the house.

Steve had been told he should know this man, even like him.  
Oh, like he did. It was hard not to, really.  
The shorter man possessed an energy that filled a room completely. He reminded Steve of the Tazmanian Devil in the cartoons he had watched as a kid, only with a slightly more agreeable temper.  
  
“So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins”

Zeppelin.  
He loved that song. It calmed him, reminding Steve of days long gone. Days when he still believed he could be who he was and still be a good SEAL. Days when he still thought that following orders was the way to achieve peace of mind.

Steve had seen the look in Danny’s eyes. He knew he had BETTER remember the man. Steve knew he was hurting him badly right now. Hence the drinking. Hence the avoidance.  
How he had come that far despite DADT, Steve didn’t know, but somehow he must have finally broken through all the training and the stupid one dimensional morals that had ruled his world previously. And maybe he had finally been happy. Been MADE happy by the heap of misery on the beach out there.

So now he had to do right by that man Danny.

 _on the road to purgatory_

Steve walked towards Danny’s huddled form.  
The man was talking to himself and Steve could make out snippets of curses here and there.

“…damned insufferable son of a bitch…. ‘course he’d go and get himself kicked in the head… betcha…”  
Hiccup.  
“… betcha he’s just pretending not to remember ‘cuz then I can’t yell at him… can’t yell at him when he’s hurt.”

Danny hiccupped again.  
Steve quietly walked a little closer.

“he’s hurt… I dunno… should’ve watched him better… should’ve made sure he gets outta there…”

The voice got lower and more indistinct after that.  
Steve sat down and put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. The man didn’t even flinch, just kept on muttering.

“Danny?” Steve asked gently.  
“What?” Danny almost toppled over when he turned his head to look at Steve.  
“Why don’t you come back to bed with me. Hm? It’s late.”

Danny's brow furrowed. There was something in that sentence. Something he should pay attention to. Something potentially problematic.  
Whatever.  
He shrugged and allowed the tall man to pull him to his feet and help him inside.

 _flames licking at his feet_

The second Danny regained consciousness the following morning – couldn’t really call it waking up – he knew there was something very wrong with the view.  
Following his nose to where it pushed against something solid, it looked to his bloodshot eyes as if that something solid was a well-developed triceps.

A familiar, though faint, scent of aftershave tickled his nose.  
No. Noooo. NO. Nu-uh.  
Danny slithered off the bed, trying very hard not to make a noise.  
Steve was fast asleep, so Danny quietly made his way to the door.

A pained moan stopped Danny in his tracks.  
Steve had turned and apparently now his cracked ribs were hurting him.  
He should not be in pain. He should not have suffered head trauma serious enough to lose his memory. Danny should’ve seen to that. He had failed the man.

Steve's eyes were still closed.  
With sagging shoulders, Danny walked down the stairs and out on the porch. He blinked rapidly. The sun stung in his eyes. He cleared his throat. Unfortunately, clearing his memory wasn't as easily as all that.  
He chewed on his upper lip.

He couldn't stand the bright light any longer and the fresh air was making him nauseous. He seriously should cut the conversations with Jack.  
Danny was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a good idea to pickle his brain in alcohol. Keeping it fresh for posterity.

Imagining his brain in a glass on a dusty shelf in an old fashioned museum together with his badge and his gun made him laugh. Laughing made his head hurt.  
Nope, definitely not a good idea with the booze.  
He wandered back into the living room, putting one foot in front of the other, as his brain was still running an emergency program only and his insides were threatening to visit the outside to boot.

Danny almost jumped out of his skin when he hit a solid form.  
His head snapped back, finding himself eye to eye with Steve. The sudden motion did decidedly unpleasant things to what was left of his brain and made his stomach lurch.

His woozy brain ordered his mouth to say he was sorry. The attempt failed miserably, Danny just managed a croak.

The deeply focused look on Steve’s face wasn't helpful either. Tension suddenly filled the air.

"Sorry", Danny tried again. His voice was barely a whisper as he tried to slide past his partner.

Without a warning, Steve gripped Danny's upper arm. Danny couldn’t quite suppress a groan. That man’s grip was like a steel vise. Still the goddamned NinjaSEAL, even half beaten to death.

"Mind if we have a little talk?"

Steve’s voice was husky. It gave Danny goose bumps and all he could manage was a brief nod.

"What the hell have I done to you, Danny? Why are you constantly avoiding me? Why all this mumbling and drinking… Hell yes, I've been through a lot and I might not remember some things I should definitely remember, but…. Why the hell won’t you talk to me? Help me?"

Steve let go and took a step back without breaking the eye contact.

Danny's jaw clenched. Now that was a first. Steve asking him to talk. If it weren’t such a fucked up situation to begin with, it would actually be funny. Almost.

"I'm … I'm not avoiding you, Steve. I'm … just, well, the case didn’t go too well and ... And there's my ex-wife … and my …"

Oh yeah, of all the flimsy fucking excuses, bringing Rachel into this at this point was the flimsy fuckingest. Especially given that Steve didn’t even know Danny had an ex-wife.

"Bull!" Steve objected, shoving hard at Danny's naked chest with his hand.

"This is bull and you know it. Something else is bothering you. Something you try to hide so desperately that you’re going to pieces right now. I may have lost my memory, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Talk to me, dammit! Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it."

Danny dropped his gaze to the ground. Great! His partner suffered from amnesia but was still capable to read him like a friggin' picture book. What should he tell him?

"Talk to me", Steve demanded.

"I think we should get some breakfast first", Danny suggested. Maybe food would distract SherlockSEAL from his quest for the truth.

"Fuck breakfast", his partner hissed.

Danny could feel the heat radiating from Steve's body. Every fiber of his own body was hyperaware of the man, from the look in Steve’s eye that seemed to pierce right through all of Danny’s protective layers to the hard abs that rose and feel with each breath to… Danny’s breath hitched as he suddenly noticed the bulge in Steve’s pants.

Insane, he thought, this is insane. And if not insane then at least terminally stupid.

As if on cue, Steve grabbed him and shoved him against the wall.

"You know what? I've had enough of this shit. Let's get real. Sure as hell I wanna take a trip down memory lane but I can't, not without you. And you know how I suck when it comes to asking for help. But instead of talking to me, you're drowning yourself in beer and Jack Daniels. And I got no clue what the hell I’ve done wrong, except not remembering you. Not remembering US. I know that that’s painful, but I can’t help it. Why the fuck can’t you just help me to remember us?"

If the situation weren’t what it was, Danny would have hooted with joy. That probably classified as the longest conversation they ever had that involved feelings. Hell, it probably was the ONLY such conversation they had ever had.  
As it was, however, he just gaped at Steve.

Danny’s heart was thundering in his chest. His cock hardened instantly. Standing as close as they were, there was no way Steve could miss that.

"I …," Danny started but Steve reached up to cup his partner’s chin in one hand, running his thumb over Danny’s lower lip. Danny forgot what it was that he had tried to say just now.

 _for peace and trust can win the day despite of all your losing_

Steve felt his partner's hot breath against his skin as he closed the remaining space between them.

Truth was, Steve wasn’t entirely sure if this was the way to go with Danny.  
Most of the night he'd watched his partner sleep while wrecking his mind for a way to bridge the gap between them. He came preciously close to slamming his head into the wall in a desperate attempt to regain his memory – if you lost it through a whack on the head, maybe it would come back with another one?

Try as he might, he still couldn't remember. So he decided to provoke Danny a bit and then play it by ear. Danny's reaction had proven him right so far.  
But what if he was misinterpreting the whole scenario? Usually his gut didn't betray him. And what his gut feeling had told him did feel right, so far. But what if he was wrong?  
Steve hesitated.

But Danny was having none of that. The kiss was hot, messy, desperate, too much teeth and not enough lip or tongue, but Steve was sure he never had a better one in his entire life.  
He ran one hand across Danny’s chest, teasing his nipples. Danny made a little noise at that. Sounded like a sob. The kiss grew a little less desperate after that.

Steve was taking control of things. It felt like the right thing to do and the shorter man wasn’t protesting, so Steve assumed that was the way they worked. He maneuvered them towards the stairs. Danny was protesting the sudden lack of friction, but eventually seemed to realize where they were going.

Steve didn’t think walking up the stairs with his tongue in Danny’s mouth was a smart idea, so he broke the kiss and growled “Run” with a twinkle in his eyes. They raced each other to the bed. When Danny landed on top of him, Steve wasn’t entirely sure anymore who had won. He flipped his lover over and continued the assault on Danny’s mouth, while dragging first his own boxers, then Danny’s off.

Damn.  
Steve paused. He had no clue where he kept the lube. There was no nightstand, so… Danny. He should ask Danny. But the damned guy had grabbed their cocks already and shit that felt so good, so maybe penetration could wait until… With that, Steve lost the ability of coherent thought as he came all over Danny’s hands. That in turn apparently was enough to send Danny over the edge and his lover came with a gasp.

He pulled Danny tightly against himself. Everything seemed to be fine now. He felt at peace for the first time since he had regained consciousness in hospital.

“Danny, are we okay again now, please? I know I don’t remember doing this with you, but… right now, it feels like we’re good. We good?” he whispered in Danny’s ear.  
The other man turned and looked at Steve with an odd expression.  
“Steve… we… we never did this before.”

Steve went completely still. How could he have… why had he…  
“Baby, we SHOULD, however, have done this months ago,” Danny continued. “Can’t believe it took a hit on the head for you to notice me.”  
Steve swallowed hard, then nuzzled Danny’s neck for a bit.

“I thought we were an item,” he said quietly. “I thought you were mad at me for forgetting.”

“I wasn’t mad at you at all, genius. I was mad at myself, because it’s my fucking JOB to keep you safe on your suicide missions.” Danny said, voice slightly raised.  
“But you know what? I’m not gonna do it anymore. I’m through. Know why? Because THIS is fucking COSMIC. The universe meant for you to get a bump on the head so you finally see the light. And lo and behold, McGarrett NinjaSEAL fucking finally does!”

At first, Steve wanted to argue against these more or less insane ramblings. Given how much Danny had drunk the night before, it was most likely still the Jack talking.  
But then again… Maybe it WAS cosmic.  
So Steve McGarrett just sighed and started to nibble on his lover’s collarbone instead.  
Memory or no memory, this was where he belonged.  
And that was all that mattered.  



End file.
